Ancient song...

The idea of nonsense words and poetry has been very intriguing to me as of late. I recently posted here on my blog “Jabberwocky”, by Lewis Carroll, the master of nonsense poems. Hope you enjoyed it!

Interestingly enough, while unpacking some belongings I came across an old journal that contains some writing exercises I had completed quite some time ago. And to my surprise I found I had completed an exercise in which the goal was to write a poem of nonsense words. So, I had made up some words with some of my favourite sounds. The exercise encouraged the writer to think of the rhythm of language and the rhythm of songs once sung and chanted by ancient peoples.

For my nonsense words and the little poem, I made it all up using some of my favourite sounds and rhythms. They just felt right on my tongue and in my ears. As a writer and listener, I love the low, round sounds. They are like a hug as they envelop your heart and soul. Such sounds are so very comforting. My favourite sound is “oo”, as in moon, spoon, and swoon. Other sounds I like are “ko”, “mah”, “vah”, and “shu”.

Here is my first ever nonsense poem, meant to bring back a sense of feeling one might get when gathered with the clan around a campfire, listening to a chant, and feeling its rhythm rock the soul, while offering peace and protection.

Horum baloo anorum
Kaytango Qouray
Ipsalim honorum salichi
Rapoon harmah koquay

Seepshi chan moshu
Alpovin der havengrad
Tie tan blorum valeri
Kotouro te san solumdad

Nonsensical, to be sure. Lots of world sounds contained, some echo Latin, others echo Eastern tongues. Some sounds are reminiscent of ancient Norse gods, while others evoke spices of the orient. All in all it was a fun exercise. It was hard to creat the words, hard to give them a rhythm, rhyme, and meter, but in the end I am glad I stretched myself. And I am very happy to have found my little writing journal.

Oh frabjous day...

This spring day is in need of some silliness and some nonsense! Who better to turn to than Lewis Carroll, the grand master of the nonsense poem! Read on, intrepid poets, read on...

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Crayons...

When I was a little girl, one of my favourite things to do was to colour. There was nothing better than an afternoon spent at the kitchen table, or sprawled out on the living room floor, surrounded by the many colouring books I shared with my younger brother. We had felt tip pens, coloured pencils, and crayons.

The felt tip pens were smart, sharp, and full of vibrant, saturated colour. I did my best to always use them with each stroke placed in the same direction, so as not to damage their fragile tips. The coloured pencils were softer and more delicate in the colour they put down. Their effect reminded me of watercolour paintings, all at once both muted and magical.

But the crayons were the most interesting of all. They felt more organic, somehow. I could lay down the colour, soft or intense, depending on how often my strokes would recur. I could set out different effects, which allowed for more shading with a greater vibrancy that the pencil, and more subtle than the felt tip pens. In short, they were most versatile.

Perhaps one of the reasons I liked the crayons the best is because of the wonderful box they came in. One of the greatest pleasures was to receive a brand new box of Crayola crayons. The large yellow and green box held the promise of every colour under the rainbow. Burnt sienna, brick red, cobalt blue, forest green, marigold, and midnight black. I still remember learning there was something called ‘periwinkle’, from the name printed on the label of the pale purple-blue crayon.

When the small perforations of the box were broken, and the folded-hinge lid was held back, there, standing on the small cardboard risers within the box, stood all of the crayons, in neat rows, like singers in a choir, standing at attention with their perfectly sharpened tips pointing to heaven, as if to intuit from God himself the promise of creativity, imagination, and beauty.

It has been a long time since I have had a box of crayons. Now that I have some new colouring books, it is time to go get some. And then I shall spend a Saturday afternoon, sitting in the sunshine, colouring to my heart’s content. I can hardly wait!

Fresh figs...

Lately I have held a fascination with fresh figs. The reason for this is that an old Greek woman I once knew told me “I should be happy to die eating fresh figs”. She was most sincere and went on to tell me, emphatically, “You have not truly lived until you have had fresh figs”. Since then, I have wondered what they looked like, how they felt, how they smelled, and most of all, how they tasted.

And then one day I was given the gift of three fresh figs from the man that I love. He brought them home to me in his coat pocket. They were beautiful. Each was a dark purple, shaped like a small bell. These particular figs had a beautiful pattern on their delicate skin. From the stem there appeared a pale whisper of yellow-purple star-stripes that fanned out and curved around the most broad part of the fig. They were not very heavy, weighing less than a boiled egg.

When I sliced open the fig, the heart-centre was filled with a muted crimson flesh, filled with a thousand (or more) tiny seeds. It was surrounded by a smooth, white flesh, providing a sharp contrast to the dark purple skin that held this most delectable treasure. The fig tasted mild and sweet, and felt wonderful in my mouth. The seeds added an interesting texture and there seemed to be a bit of creaminess to it all. And then, surprisingly, there seemed to be a bit of a coconut taste that came through at the end. This seemed to me to be very interesting.

So now that I have tasted fresh figs, I want more. They are phenomenal. I have been collecting fig recipes and look forward to including figs in my life. It is as if a whole new portal to fruit has been opened, and I am blessed to have been able to experience such a simple, sweet little treat.